Because I Could Not Stop For Death
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: April 1903- A string of deaths during the London Season impact the life of Charles Carson. Part of the 'Moving' AU. Early Chelsie Friendship. Young Ladies Crawley included for cuteness.
1. A Rushed Departure

April 1903-

"Is all in readiness, Mr. Carson?"

"Almost, Mrs. Hughes. The last of the cases went up first thing this morning and should be packed by the end of the day." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. They were sitting side by side at the table. It was something he would miss.

"Well, my girls are available to help with the lighter luggage." Mrs. Hughes offered, trying to keep her tone light. In three days he would be leaving with the family for over three months. She'd tried to avoid thinking about it, but the reality loomed too close now to ignore.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, but I am sure that will not prove necessary." He smiled at her, trying not to stare too much, but silently committing her every movement to memory. His usual excitement for the London Season had cooled considerably since last year. He looked forward to it now as a dreary duty rather than the working holiday it had once been. He could not fully admit to himself why this was, but he knew it had something to do with the woman to his right. "Have you finalized plans to visit your sister?"

"We are trying to agree on the best time; for her and for me."

"Well, be sure you make it a nice, long visit. With the family gone, it is the perfect opportunity. Mrs. Pearson usually took a full two weeks. One year, she and her sister spent a week in Brighton."

"My sister already lives by the sea, so we will be enjoying the sun and the water. I doubt I'll take two weeks. Dare I trust this lot for two full weeks, Mr. Carson?"

"That is why you must go early in the Season. If they behave, there is no harm done. If they've slacked off, you have at least a month to whip them back into shape."

A disgruntled face leaned forward halfway down the table. Roger frowned down the table towards the butler. "Mr. Carson, I must once again voice my objection. I am the first footman and I feel that I should be accompanying the family rather than Geoffrey."

"You should have considered that before…" Mr. Carson thought better of mentioning Roger's infraction at the breakfast table. "In any event, this is not the venue to have this discussion. You may see me in my pantry later today, but I am unlikely to change my mind."

The back door bell rang. Geoffrey jumped up quickly to answer it. Carson looked meaningfully at Roger, who sat sulking in his seat. How did he expect to progress in this life with an attitude like that?"

"Telegram, Mr. Carson." Geoffrey reported.

"His Lordship should be at his desk. Please deliver it to him, Geoffrey."

"It's for you, Mr. Carson."

"For me?" He looked at Mrs. Hughes before taking the slip of paper. In his experience, telegrams rarely carried good news.

Upon opening the telegram, Mr. Carson immediately jumped up from his place at table and started towards the stairs. "Geoffrey, bring my case down from my room and have it waiting for me at the back door." The case had been packed for London for over a week now. "And get out the bicycle." He called over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time.

The rest of the staff looked at each other with perplexed expressions. Roger commented wryly, "Who knew the old man could move that fast? Ouch!" Someone had kicked him under the table.

-00-

"I know the timing is terrible, My Lord, but my friend says that Mr. Farrimond is unlikely to live through the night. He has been asking for me and I should very much wish to go. I hope to catch the nine o'clock."

Lord Grantham frowned. It was terribly inconvenient to lose Carson at this time, but it was impossible to refuse him. The man never asked for any special favors and now, he only asked to help ease the passing of a friend. Robert looked at the clock; it was 8:48. "You had best leave immediately, Carson, or you shall miss the train. We will see you at Grantham House in three day's time."

"Thank you, My Lord. I know Mrs. Hughes will be able to oversee the departure capably, I will…"

"Go, Carson! We'll manage." Bowing and repeating his thanks, Carson backed quickly out the door. Lord Grantham had never seen Carson so flustered.

Mrs. Hughes was waiting at the back door with his case. Carson felt a pang of regret seeing her there. He had hoped for a few more evenings of shared wine and company before leaving for London. There was a particularly fine Beaujolais being served with tonight's dinner that he had known she would like. But he had no time for wine or goodbyes or explanations. He shrugged quickly into his coat and donned his hat.

"I am sorry to rush off, Mrs. Hughes. Paul has taken ill, seriously ill, and I must go this instant. I shall write and I shall expect regular reports from Downton." He took his case from her and fought a mad impulse to kiss her on the cheek as he rushed out the door.

"Thank you, Geoffrey. Please send someone down to the station to retrieve the bicycle as soon as you can." The footman nodded and handed Carson the bicycle. Carson quickly straddled the bike, but looked baffled when he tried to grab the handlebars while still holding the case. After a moment of confusion, he balanced the case perpendicularly on the handlebars in front of him, holding it in place with his chin as he started off. He rode out of the courtyard and off toward the village, the bicycle bucking wildly under him whenever he took a hand off the handlebars to steady the case. Had his mission been less serious, he would have been quite a comical sight.

At the station, Mr. Carson pulled up just as the conductor was calling all aboard. Carrying the case in one hand and the bicycle in the other, he ran up the stairs. Seeing the station master at the other end of the platform, Carson dropped the bicycle and shouted, "Someone from the house will be by for the bicycle shortly, Mr. Kraig. If you could just park it by the waiting room, I'd be much obliged!" He lunged for the nearest compartment and jumped aboard the train as it began to pull away from the station.

Sighing with relief, Carson turned to face two rather shocked ladies. Realizing he was in First Class, he doffed his hat politely and excused himself into the corridor to find his way to Third.

TBC...

* * *

**AN/ This is another prequel to the 'Moving Forward'/'Moving On'/'Perpetual Motion' AU which also includes 'Training Wheels' and 'Never Downtonland'. If you've forgotten, or don't want to read the other story, Paul Farrimond is the homeless man from 'Never Downtonland' who was a very successful businessman but lost his family in a fire and became a drunk.**

**This is a little dark, but it is mostly sweet. The main focus is Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' early friendship against the backdrop of crisis. The young Ladies Crawley will play large roles as well.**


	2. Houses of the Dead

The evening post the next day brought two letters from Mr. Carson. One was delivered upstairs to Lord Grantham. The other was delivered to Mrs. Hughes, downstairs.

_Dear Mrs. Hughes, _

_I am sorry to begin our Seasonal correspondence with such sad tidings, but I am afraid the news I have to share is bittersweet. I did make it to St. James's in time to see Paul before he died. I hope my presence was a comfort to him, but I am not sure that he knew me. His fever was very high when I arrived and never broke. He mistook Jack for his son and seemed unsure of who I was. Still, he was not alone at the end, but surrounded by friendly faces. I think there must be nothing so frightening as facing the unknown alone. At least he was spared that final distress._

_Whatever the next life holds, he has made his peace with this one, which treated him so cruelly._

_Services are to be held on Saturday, just as the family is due to arrive. I am not sure I shall be able to attend, but I can be comforted by the knowledge that I was able to be there when my friend needed me most._

_I appreciate that this has created more work for you, but I know it will not prove too much for one as capable as yourself. I could never have abandoned the family at this time if I did not have full faith in your abilities.  
_

_Sincerely, C. Carson_

"Mrs. Hughes?" Elsie was startled to see His Lordship in her office doorway. She rose quickly, dabbing at her eyes.

"I see you've heard from Carson." Lord Grantham observed. "I just wanted to tell you that the family will be leaving as scheduled on Saturday, but I will be going on the early train tomorrow. I wish to pay my respects to Mr. Farrimond and to assure Carson that he can do the same. I shall take Geoffrey with me. I am sorry we have put so much on you for your first Season sendoff."

"It could not be helped, My Lord. And the staff know their business. Leave it to me."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. And may I say my initial misgivings at your relative youth for such a position have certainly proven unwarranted." He smiled at her, confident that he'd offered a very flattering accolade.

"I thank you for saying so, My Lord." Elsie answered in a saccharine tone. Inside, she scoffed at him. How patronizing was it to have a man almost ten years her junior comment that she was not too young to handle her responsibilities? _Honestly. The daft man thinks that was a compliment. _Still, it was sweet that he was taking the effort to allow Mr. Carson to attend Paul's funeral without worrying about the family. Not for the first time, Elsie saw a distinct similarity between master and servant. Both Lord Grantham and Mr. Carson could be as disarmingly charming as they could be naively harsh.

-00-

The morning of the funeral the air was bitterly cold as Winter gasped her last frigid breath in the face of the strengthening Spring. Mourners filled the Anglican Chapel at Highgate Cemetery to pay tribute. Of course, Jack and his whole brood were there. Most of the assembled were from Paul's life before the fire. There were former colleagues and employees; people he had purposely avoided when he disappeared. A large contingent from his old club sat together near the front of the chapel. Carson recognized a few Earl's Court residents who knew Paul only as the local bum, but had treated him with kindness. Paul had always been polite and gentle. Even those who had not known his history could sense that he had once been a gentleman. He was the cautionary tale, the living embodiment of 'There, but for the Grace of God, go I.' But he was living no more.

The service was brief, there was little to be said about a life mercifully ended. Before the service, a select few bore witness to Mr. Paul Farrimond's ashes being laid to rest in the family plot. Now, the others patiently waited their turn to file respectfully past the headstone, laying flowers and tokens upon the reunited family.

Very few of the hundreds who came to pay their respects knew why the stone bench beside the family plot was smooth from wear. They did not know that the bench was the one place in London that Paul had considered home. The Highgate Cemetery caretakers knew Paul and sometimes let him sleep in the cemetery when the weather was dry. It had been a caretaker who had found him, shaking with chills and coughing blood, the day before he died. The corner of the plot that had waited patiently for its occupant was freshly filled. The grave's collection was finally complete.

Having visited the grave before the service, Carson and Lord Grantham lingered in the chapel as the majority of the people filed across Swan's Lane towards the East Cemetery.

"There's no reason to hurry back to the house, Carson. Lady Grantham and the girls will be happier settling in without us underfoot." He sensed that Carson was not yet ready to face the exuberance of Grantham House's new occupants. "Do you know, I've never visited the Lebanon Circle here? I always wanted to visit as a child, but Mama thought cemeteries were gauche."

They walked west, towards the Egyptian columns of the West Gate. How incongruous it felt in modern London. Hieroglyphics that said nothing covered the faces of the crypts that lined the path that led deeper into the cemetery. Lions and angels stood sentinel over their charges.

The two men walked the gravel path, neither of them speaking. Carson was grateful for the time to collect his thoughts in peace. The soft quiet of the trees felt more reverent than the hard silence of the chapel. Eventually, they reached the rows of doorways of the Lebanon Circle. It felt like a miniature street of London.

"I think they took the phrase 'Houses of the Dead' too literally." Lord Grantham commented, looking at the oddly quaint looking row of entryways. "One feels the urge to knock on a door and leave a card."

"I wouldn't knock on one of these doors." Carson cautioned.

"Why ever not?"

"Someone might answer."

The two men exchanged wry looks and chuckled. "Perhaps Mama was right; this is gauche." Lord Grantham finally admitted. "And more than a little macabre. Shall we return to Gratham House?"

"I think we should, My Lord. Thank you for allowing me to come today and for accompanying me."

"Think nothing of it, Carson. We should all be able to pay our respects to our friends."

Carson was grateful to work for an employer who understood that even butlers were sometimes just men.

TBC…

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**AN/ ****Thank you for the reviews, follows and favorites. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as you seem to anticipate;)**

**I really love Robert/Carson moments. I know I made him something of an ass in some of the stories, but I don't think he's bad at heart. **

**SPOILER FOR ANYONE WHO HAS NOT READ 'MOVING ON' - For those who don't recall, Carson and Robert ****are half brothers**** in this AU, though they don't know it yet in this story.**


	3. Talk of Heaven

"Where's Mr. Farrimond?" Sybil asked her mother on the way home from church their first Sunday in London. "I saved him my scone from breakfast." She pulled a napkin full of dry, sticky crumbs from her tiny purse.

Lady Grantham didn't know what to say. She was touched by this kindness her daughter wanted to show to a man she had only met once, but Lady Grantham wasn't ready to talk to the girls about death. None of them were old enough to remember their grandfather's death and funeral. Sybil hadn't even been born when he died.

"We'll ask Mr. Carson when we get home." Cora deflected. She hoped that Sybil would forget about Paul, but she knew it was unlikely.

Sure enough, the second the door opened at Grantham House, Sybil blurted out, "Where's Mr. Farrimond? I have this for him."

"Will you see that he receives it, Carson?" Lord Grantham gave the butler a significant look.

"Of course, My Lord." Carson answered smoothly and reached out to receive the mess of butter, crumbs and jam. He did not even flinch as she placed it in his hand.

This seemed to cheer Sybil considerably. Mary and Edith looked fatigued by their sister's charity, both rolling their eyes as if to say, _'We've gone to church, isn't that enough?" _and _"Must one be so cheerful all the time?' _respectively.

-00-

The Season progressed with obstinate sloth until May finally arrived. Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper at Grantham House, was the wrong side of eighty years and retired very early in the evenings, almost immediately after servant's dinner. This left Carson with a few more duties, but it also afforded him silence and privacy. In past Season's he had looked forward to his quiet evenings, but this year he felt restless. He sat most evenings in his great leather chair reading novels She had recommended or mentioned in Her letters. Carson disciplined himself to only write to Downton_, to Her_, once a week.

Carson was very surprised one Saturday evening when he looked up at the light sound of knocking at his office door. All three of the young Ladies Grantham stood there expectantly. He stood quickly and set his book aside.

"You should all be fast asleep by now." Carson informed them with his deep voice that was stern but could never scold them.

"Tomorrow is Sunday." Lady Mary announced as though her declaration made it so.

"So it is."

"We've not seen Mr. Farrimond since we arrived in London." Edith pointed out.

"I expect not."

"Where is he?" Sybil asked with her voice thick with genuine concern.

Carson took a deep breath. The two older girls looked at him, expecting him to lie to them like every other adult they had asked. Carson knew he was a terrible liar under even ideal circumstances. He did not even consider attempting a lie while facing these three earnest faces asking for the truth.

"He is dead, My Ladies. He died just before the family came to London."

"Is that why you left early, Carson?" Mary wondered.

"It is, My Lady. I was able to see him before he died."

"And is that why Papa did not travel with us?" Edith asked.

"It is. His Lordship attended the funeral with me."

"But where _is_ he?" Sybil still wanted to know. Carson could not answer.

"He's in heaven." Mary told her coldly, as though even a child as young as Sybil should know that. "Thank you, Carson."

"I'm sorry, Carson." Edith offered her condolences, not because she really understood, but only because she knew she ought to.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but was too overwhelmed to speak.

Sybil was still confused. Heaven was a good place; they spoke of it in church. Even a king would find Heaven an improvement, she'd been told. So why was Carson so obviously sad?

"Is he happier there?" She asked. "He wasn't very happy here."

"Sybil, it's not our business to ask." Mary shushed her.

"It's alright, My Lady, I don't mind saying." Carson said. He knelt down so that he was eye level with the girls. "He is with his family now. So, yes, he is much happier."

"Heaven is where we go to be with our family?" Sybil wanted to know.

"Mr. Farrimond's family was there already. Heaven is where we are surrounded by those we love and who love us."

"But we have that now." The youngest Crawley insisted.

"Yes, but we cannot stay in this world forever." Carson tried to explain something that he himself rarely considered. "We have to make room for others to come and live here. When we've had our time here, we go to Heaven. There is room in Heaven for everyone. There is no hunger or need. In Heaven, there is nothing but peace and love."

"But people are sad when someone dies."

"They are sad for themselves, not for the people who have died. We miss them for a time, but we will see them again." Carson tried to think of something in the child's experience that could better explain what he meant. "Do you remember how much you missed your father when he was away?"

The small girl nodded, her dark curls bouncing.

"And do you remember how you felt when he came home?"

Sybil nodded again.

"That's what it's like to lose someone. We are sad when they are gone, but the joy when we see them again in Heaven is almost beyond words."

This seemed to satisfy the youngest Crawley. She turned to follow her sisters who were leaving, but then she stopped and looked back at the still kneeling butler. "Carson? When I get to Heaven, will you be there?"

"I shall be there to open the door for you, My Lady." Carson smiled reassuringly. "But there are many joys to be found in this world, My Lady. Let's not hurry to the next. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Sybil smiled back at him before skipping after her sisters.

TBC…

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**AN/ I don't know why I can't resist these bittersweet moments with little Sybil. **

**Next chapter: Death number 2.**


	4. A Gentle Man

"Oh, my God!" Lady Grantham covered her mouth with both hands in shock. "It can't be, Robert, there must be a mistake."

"I am afraid not. Apparently, he choked during lunch at his club." Lord Grantham told his distraught wife as he stared at the note the boy had just delivered.

"How terrible. Where is Rosamund?"

"At home. Mama is with her."

"Is that supposed to be a comfort?"

"Cora." Robert did not think now was the time to attack his mother. "I must go over there. We all must."

"Not the girls. Robert, they won't understand. About death, I mean."

"They were going to have to learn sooner or later, my dear." He pointed out sensibly.

"I know, but I was hoping it would be later."

"Their uncle has just died. I think the time is now."

"They might upset Rosamund further."

"I think she would like to see them. She will need family around her."

-00-

_Dear Mr. Carson,_

_Thank you for writing to me about Mr. Painswick. Do not fret for one second about interrupting my vacation. You were correct to do so. Though I must cut my time with my sister short, I am glad that I will have the opportunity to pay my respects to my former employer._

_I find it hard to believe that he is gone. He was a quiet man, but I still cannot believe that no one at the club noticed that he was dead for almost an hour. __Mr. Painswick was a gentle man as well as a gentleman.__ My heart aches for Lady Rosamund. Though some might claim it was a marriage of convenience for her, I was privileged to see them in more relaxed moments. He was truly her best friend. I think that must be rare amongst marriages in this class, according to my limited experience._

_I do plan to avail myself of Lady Grantham's generous offer of a room at Grantham House for the duration of my stay. I have no London acquaintances who could offer me accommodations. There is no need to send a carriage. I shall come straight to the service from the train._

_Once again, thank you for thinking to inform me. I know you must be very busy as the family deals with this tragic event. _

_E. Hughes_

Carson knew it was wrong to find something to be grateful for in a man's death, but he could not help but feel glad at the prospect of seeing Mrs. Hughes a full two months before anticipated.

The bell for the drawing room rang twice. Carson refolded her letter and answered the summons.

"I know Geoffrey is on duty, Carson, but this is a matter with which only you can help us."

"What is it that you require, My Lord?"

"It's about the young Ladies." Lady Grantham picked up where her husband left off. "And Mr. Painswick's funeral. We need your help looking after the children during the service and in the cemetery."

"Of course, My Lady."

"We'd have Miss Randall handle them alone, but I think the children would prefer if you were there, Carson." Lord Grantham added.

"I was planning to attend regardless, to pay my respects. If you wish for me to sit with the children, then I shall, My Lord."

"Thank you, Carson." Lord Grantham nodded. Sometimes he wondered what they would do without their steady butler. It was not a prospect he liked to consider. Thankfully, it was not likely to be a problem that needed solving for a good long time.

During the drive over to Rosamund's on the day that Marmaduke died, Lady Grantham had tried to explain to the girls what had happened to their uncle. She had been surprised to learn that the girls had already discussed death with Carson. At first, she had been upset. It was not the place of a servant to explain such things to her children, she told herself, but she had to admit that she had not wanted to discuss it with them. And Carson was more than a mere servant.

Her anger dissipated entirely when she realized that the girls had accepted and embraced his explanation. At one point, Sybil had told a sobbing Rosamund, "I miss him too, but you mustn't be sad. Uncle Marmie wouldn't want you to be sad. He isn't sad."

Rosamund had stopped crying to look down at her niece curiously.

"You'll see him again. Think how happy you'll both be then."

Unable to speak, Rosamund pulled Sybil into an almost painful embrace. The innocent faith of a child was exactly the comfort she needed.

-00-

"Mrs. Hughes!" She could see him over the other passengers as she exited the train.

As he approached, she gave him an amused and accusing look, her mouth frowning while her eyes smiled. "I told you not to send a carriage, Mr. Carson."

"I did not send a carriage, Mrs. Hughes, I sent a butler." He flashed a quick, crooked smile. "I'm afraid it's the omnibus for us. I am on my way to the service and I did not want you to have to carry your things all over London. " He took her tiny bag before she could protest.

His mention of the service reminded Elsie of the reason for her visit. Seeing him had initially driven every sad thought from her mind. The black mourning band on his bicep stretched as he offered her his arm.

"Have you seen Lady Rosamund, Mr. Carson?"

"Not yet. The young Ladies say she is doing tolerably."

"Can such young girls truly understand what their poor aunt is going through?"

"They can understand as well as any of us, perhaps better, what it is to lose someone who means the world to you." He said, his voice betraying his doubt. "Their world is so small; their uncle is one of the few people they know. I think they are all feeling it keenly."

"I suppose that is so."

When the open air omnibus that would take them by Highgate Cemetery arrived, Carson helped Mrs. Hughes up and then climbed in beside her. They rode silently at first. Whenever Mrs. Hughes dared look over at him, she caught him looking at her. He would smile awkwardly and then look out towards the street. She wondered if he were trying to drink in her presence the way she was trying to drink in his. Thankfully, even when she was looking away from him, she could smell his aftershave and the polish on his shoes.

Not for the first time, she wondered at the irony of their predicament. Their positions brought them together, but kept them apart. Society would let her take his arm in public, but it did not allow her to tell him how much she missed him.

"I hope your sister was not too upset that you had to cut your stay short." Mr. Carson finally addressed her.

"She understood. After all, I was able to visit her for over a week." Three days into her visit, Elsie had regretted promising to stay two full weeks. She and May were both so strong willed that they could never stay under the same roof for very long without clashing. "To be honest, Mr. Carson, I think I was in danger of overstaying my welcome." Elsie chuckled.

"That doesn't seem likely." Carson commented innocently, but then blushed to hear how it sounded. His embarrassment ended the conversation there.

When they arrived at Highgate, Mr. Carson helped Mrs. Hughes from the bus and offered her his arm again.

"This way. Unfortunately, I'm starting to know my way around Highgate." Carson smiled sadly.

"I'd like to visit Mr. Farrimond's grave if there is time."

"I'm sure that can be arranged, Mrs. Hughes. I believe the young ladies wished to visit it as well."

Elsie could see the family arriving amongst the gathering mourners as she and Mr. Carson approached chapel.

TBC…

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**AN/ Don't be mad at me for killing Marmaduke. To be fair, it was Mr. Fellowes who killed off Marmaduke, I'm just working it into my story. I wish we knew more about poor Mr. Painswick, but I choose to believe that he was very boring outside of the home, but that Rosamund loved him deeply.**


	5. Discovery in the Catacombs

Inside the chapel the family took up the front few rows. In the third row back, Mrs. Hughes sat beside Lady Mary, who sat beside Carson. On Carson's other side Lady Sybil leaned against the butler, dozing her way through the service. Lady Edith sat between her younger sister and Miss Randall.

Elsie watched the girls with curiosity. Mr. Carson said they were feeling the loss of their uncle very keenly. You could tell a lot about a person by how they react to personal tragedy.

Lady Mary sat ramrod straight, just like her butler. From time to time the young girl would look up at the butler as if to make sure she were sitting straight enough. Sensing her movement, he would look down at her and give an approving nod. Elsie bit her lip to keep from smiling at the strange pair.

Lady Sybil had long since lost interest in the proceedings. She had held Lady Rosamund's hand until the very last moment when the children were relegated to their proper seats. The pomp and circumstance of the event did not impress her. Young Sybil was still of the age to take naps and she decided to make up for the one she was missing. With her little hands clasped daintily in her lap, she slept contentedly at Carson's side. When Miss Randall noticed, she moved to wake the child, but Carson stopped her with a look.

Lady Edith was looking around at the congregation with an inquisitive eye. Elsie could guess what she was thinking. How is it possible that so many people knew her Uncle Marmaduke? How is it possible that so many of them look exactly like her Uncle Maramduke? The chapel was full of mustachioed men with dark coats. This place of memorial felt more like a place of business.

None of the boring men who stood to eulogize Mr. Painswick commented on any of the things the girls remembered him for. They failed to mention the card games he had taught them or the sips of sherry he had snuck to them. They neglected to commemorate the way only he could make Aunt Rosamund laugh at herself or the gracious way he absorbed Old Lady Grantham's barbs.

Finally, the droning buzz of the testimonies was done. It was time to inter the body. The family stood to lead the procession out of the chapel. Miss Randall followed Old Lady Grantham with Lady Edith beside her. Carson lifted Lady Sybil without waking her and followed with Lady Mary by his side. Mrs. Hughes hung back, unsure of her place until Mr. Carson looked back over his shoulder and motioned for her to join them with a tilt of his head.

-00-

Mr. Painswick was laid to rest in one of the fashionable mausoleums on the Lebanon Circle. Lady Rosamund insisted there was nothing too good for her husband. Lord Grantham and Carson exchanged a meaningful look as they passed the doors of the dead. Robert no longer felt the urge to knock on a door.

An apparently endless parade of black suits waited to offer their words of condolence to the family. The children grew restless. Sybil had woken up and squirmed down from Carson's grasp. She stood now, jostling back and forth between her sisters as Mary and Edith attempted to surreptitiously untie each other's hair bows. The adults were restless as well, but could not show it.

"Carson, why don't you take the girls to visit Mr. Farrimond's site?" Lady Grantham suggested after Lady Edith and Lady Mary had to be separated yet again.

"Very good, My Lady." Carson looked around, but did not see Miss Randall anywhere. A look from Mrs. Hughes assured him that he would not have to watch the girls alone.

Rather than take the children past the long line of people waiting to pay their respects, Carson led the girls and Mrs. Hughes further around the circle and up to the terraced catacombs. The girls were silent and properly respectful, which was why the giggles they heard came as such a surprise.

Mrs. Hughes caught Mr. Carson's eye and motioned for them to take the next turn to avoid what was obviously a pair of lovers hidden in the catacombs. He nodded and started to turn until he heard, "Roger, stop that. I have to get back."

The voice was unmistakably Miss Randall's. Carson turned a bright shade of red. He had a feeling he knew this Roger to whom she was speaking. _If that blasted footman is here in London against my orders…_

Mrs. Hughes and the girls flattened themselves against the wall to clear the way for the irate butler as he turned and headed towards the echoing voices.

"They'll be there for hours yet." Roger's voice dripped with false charm.

"I'll meet you tonight, as always."

"I can't wait."

"You most certainly can wait." Mr. Carson's voice hissed.

"Mr. Carson!" Roger's terrified exclamation echoed off the vaulted stone of the catacombs. The noise was too much for the girls and they hurried with Mrs. Hughes out into the open air of the cemetery. The heated conversation was still funneled out to them, reverberating through the corridors of the dead.

"How long have you been in London, Roger?"

"I don't see as how it's any of your business, Mr. Carson." Roger answered with empty bravado.

"You're right, Roger, it is none of my business what a former employee is up to. I bid you good day. Miss Randall, if you wish to remain in Lady Grantham's employ, you will accompany Mrs. Hughes, the children and I to the East Cemetery. I leave it to you to decide."

Mr. Carson came storming out of the catacombs. He marched right past Mrs. Hughes and the children and started walking. Mary took off after him, but Mrs. Hughes, Edith and Sybil remained rooted to the spot. They watched the catacombs with interest. They could hear the lovers arguing.

"We don't need them, love. I'll take care of you." He promised.

"I'm sorry, Roger, but I need this job." Miss Randall reminded him. "You can't take care of me."

"But I promise."

"Your promises are empty and we both know it."

Very shortly, Miss Randall emerged into the light. She was buttoning up the front of her dress. She looked defiantly at Mrs. Hughes, but burst into tears when she saw the sympathy in the older woman's eyes. She ran into Mrs. Hughes' arms and began to cry upon her shoulder.

Roger was right behind them. "Leave off, you old biddy." He fumed. "This is none of your affair."

"If you have any hope of retaining your position, Roger, I suggest you adopt a more penitent tone with me." Mrs. Hughes ordered, ignoring the insult he had hurled at her. "Go back to Downton at once. If you behave yourself, I may be able to persuade Mr. Carson not to sack you. At the very least, you may be able to salvage your character."

"Sod that. I'm tired of working in service. I'll make a go of it here in London. Come away with me, Daff." His earlier confidence had evaporated. "Please, love, believe in me."

Miss Randall was sobbing now and shaking her head. She'd only meant to have a bit of fun with Roger, but he'd convinced her that they were in love. Unfortunately, Roger was not the type of man one could depend upon or believe in. Faced with losing him or losing her job, Miss Randall found that she valued stability over sentimentality. It was a painful realization.

"I'm sorry, Roger." She repeated. "I'm so sorry."

"Go back to Downton, Roger." Elsie urged gently.

"Why don't you bugger off, you fat cow? This is none of your-" Roger's words were cut short as a great paw grabbed the front of his shirt.

Unseen by anyone, Mr. Carson and Mary had circled back to collect the others. "Do you have any insults for me, lad?" Mr. Carson held Roger's face dangerously close to his own. He snarled down at the simpering footman. "You seem generous enough with them when faced with a lady who is so far above you that you should be humbled just to be in her presence. Well? Do you have something to say to _me_?"

Roger shook his head. Even if he could find words, he would not have had the air with which to utter them. Mr. Carson's hands were at his throat, one holding the collar of his shirt and the other hand spread menacingly under his jaw, holding Roger up on tiptoes.

"Mr. Carson!" A chorus of concerned female voices rang out.

Elsie could not catalogue her feelings; she was experiencing so many at once. She was angry with Roger but she was terrified that Mr. Carson might do something foolish. She felt proud that he would defend her honor so vehemently. She was glad to hear him speak so highly of her, but most of all, she was aroused. She'd never seen Mr. Carson look more impressive. Usually, he kept his strength and power restrained. In his anger, he'd thrown propriety out the window and given way to his full passion. He was terrible and beautiful. Elsie had never desired him more in her life. Unwittingly, she gripped Miss Randall tighter.

"Set him down, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes said quietly. "There's no harm done yet."

Carson relaxed his grip on Roger's throat and collar. "You're lucky we're on consecrated ground, lad. And you're lucky that you aren't worth the trouble."

He turned away from the gasping footman and faced the silent witnesses. Carson straightened his tie and adjusted his waistcoat. Like a flash of lightning, his anger was gone. He was the cool and collected butler once more. "My apologies, Ladies. I fear that I lost my temper. Shall we continue on to the East Cemetery?"

That was when Carson saw Lady Sybil cowering behind Mrs. Hughes who still held a weeping Miss Randall. Immediately, he felt terrible for scaring the girl. He knelt down and looked at her with remorseful eyes. "Did I frighten you, child?"

Sybil nodded, her hands full of Mrs. Hughes' skirt. Carson bowed his head in shame. How could he explain to this child the anger that had flowed through him upon hearing Roger insult Mrs. Hughes?

It was Lady Mary who came to his rescue. "A man must defend a lady's honor, Sybil. That is all Carson was doing." She assured her sister. Carson looked up at Mrs. Hughes and noticed how her face was flushed and vibrant. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mary spoke before he could. "Now, we should hurry over to the East Cemetery if we want to have time to pay our respects."

With that, the incident was forgotten. Mary took one of Carson's hands while Sybil took the other. Edith held Mrs. Hughes's hand as Miss Randall still clung to the housekeeper's side. They all turned their back on the flustered Roger and headed towards the gates of the West Cemetery.

TBC…

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**AN/ Please review if you've got the time.**


	6. A Penny for Your Thoughts

After crossing from the West Cemetery to the East, Carson finally slowed his steps and let the others gather their breath. He led them silently back towards the simple grave that held Paul Farrimond and his family. Miss Randall was still sniffling slightly, but she had gathered herself together enough to move about without clinging to Mrs. Hughes.

Carson could not bring himself to look at Mrs. Hughes. He had seen something in her flushed countenance that he could not or would not let himself consider. He had seen a heat and a passion that mirrored his own in that moment. If he had not been so worried about frightening Lady Sybil and if Miss Randall had not been there, occupying Mrs. Hughes' arms, Carson was unsure what his next actions might have been.

Now, the blood had cooled. Reality and shame set in. He gave the girls the final directions to the Farrimond family plot and let them run ahead. Miss Randall shuffled sadly after them.

"I feel that I need to apologize, Mrs. Hughes." He began when they were alone. "I have no excuse for my behavior just now."

"I should think it is Roger who owes me an apology, Mr. Carson, but I won't hold my breath." She smiled at him. "I really ought to thank you, Mr. Carson. It's been a long time since anyone defended my honor."

Carson smiled gratefully at her. Once again, she had found a way to make a misstep feel like a triumph. "I shouldn't think your honor required much defending, Mrs. Hughes. What is more, I am sure you're quite capable of defending it yourself."

"I am, but it was nice to let someone else do the dirty work this time. It does get tiring sometimes, defending one's honor."

"Are there really so many men foolish enough to impugn your honor?"

"You would be surprised at the number of fools in the world, Mr. Carson." Elsie looked sideways at Carson. He was reading the names on the headstones as they passed. He was just a man again and he seemed to have returned to his usual size and self, though the memory of the feral beast into which his anger had transformed him was fresh in her mind. Elsie set this blood-stirring memory aside and took refuge in professional matters. "If I might venture to defend a fool, you could surely find it in your heart to give Roger a reference."

Carson looked at her in disbelief.

"For as long as he worked at Downton, doesn't he deserve that much?" She argued.

"If you call what he did at Downton working…" Carson huffed.

"Don't be petty, Mr. Carson. It's beneath you."

This appeal to his ego did the trick. His rant died in his throat, which he cleared loudly as he was thinking. "You are too good, Mrs. Hughes; to defend him even now." Carson shook his head. "He must have left Downton immediately after you left for your sister's. How could he have expected to get away with it?"

"We all do foolish things for love, Mr. Carson."

He considered this for a moment. "I'll tell you what, Mrs. Hughes. I shall write a decent reference for Roger and I shall give it to you. If he has the guts to come to Downton and apologize to you, then you may reward him as you choose. He will receive nothing directly from me."

"That seems more than fair, Mr. Carson."

They caught up with the girls and Miss Randall at the bench beside the Farrimond family plot. Lady Edith was reading the names out to her sisters. "…Gregory James, Victoria Louise, Elizabeth Eugenia."

"What do the numbers mean?" Sybil asked.

"Those are dates." Carson knelt beside her and pointed. "This first is their birthday and the second is the day they died," he explained.

"Everyone but Mr. Farrimond died on the same day." Edith pointed out.

"There was a terrible fire."

Sybil was looking closely at the dates beneath the name of Elizabeth Eugenia. "1888. 1895." She counted out on her fingers, "Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five. She was seven. She was my age."

"Yes." Was all Carson could say. He wished that he could tell them that it was uncommon for children to die, but he could not.

"People have left coins on the grave." Mary said, looking curiously at a small line of pennies along the main marker. They all looked as though they had been there for a very long time.

"I think Mr. Farrimond must have put them there for his family. I don't know why exactly." Carson said.

"The Greeks used to put coins in the mouth of the dead so they could pay the ferryman on the river Styx." Mary supplied. "I read about it in one of my mythology books."

"But they aren't Greek." Edith protested.

"Maybe Mr. Farrimond had heard of the tradition and wanted to leave something for his family. Flowers wilt and would get expensive to replace. A coin would certainly last longer." Mrs. Hughes commented.

Edith counted the coins, all of which looked quite old. "There isn't one for Mr. Farrimond. May we leave one?"

"I think he would have liked that." Carson reached into his pocket.

"No." Mary stopped him. "I have a six pence, Carson. We can use that."

"That's appropriate," Sybil smiled. "Since there are six of us."

"Very good." Carson nodded.

Lady Mary took the coin out of her tiny purse. She didn't know what to do exactly, so she handed it to Carson. He closed his had around the coin and closed his eyes, saying a brief, silent prayer for his friend before passing the coin to Mrs. Hughes, who did the same. When the coin came to Lady Edith, she looked confused.

"Am I to pray?"

"If you like. You may speak to God or to Mr. Farrimond or you can just remember. There's no wrong answer." Mrs. Hughes answered gently.

The coin thus passed around the circle of visitors and returned to Lady Mary. She closed her eyes, but did not pray. She didn't know how to speak directly to God. She hadn't really known Mr. Farrimond very well. Instead, she thought of her own family. She thought of her Aunt Rosamund and her Uncle Marmaduke; one now in Heaven and on still on earth.

With each of them thinking their own thoughts, they watched Lady Mary lay the coin on the head stone beside the other coins and just under Paul's name.

"Now, I think that is enough death for one day." Carson said after a few reverent moments. "You are children and children are meant to laugh and play. Let's go over to Waterlow Park and see if we can find a swing."

This cheered everyone up instantly. Unbeknownst to the girls, they skipped past the graves of great men and great families, of literary and political giants, but their only thought was of swings.

Lady Mary was not skipping with her sisters, but walking pensively by Carson's side. A thought had arisen to plague her.

"May I ask you a question, Carson?"

"Of course, My Lady."

"What if Aunt Rosamund wants to remarry?"

"I doubt she is thinking of that today."

"But some day, she might."

"She might."

"What does that mean for Uncle Marmaduke? When she gets to Heaven, who is her husband?"

Carson looked to Mrs. Hughes for help, but she just shrugged and looked as perplexed as he felt. "I'm not sure what the Church has to say on that, My Lady."

"Is it the Church's decision then?"

"It is the Church that sanctions marriage. I know they are very clear on divorce and remarriage." _That's why the Anglican Church was established, after all._ "I've known widows who marry, but I don't know that I've ever heard what happens when they reach Heaven."

Carson seemed to be giving this a good deal of thought. "I suppose if she remarried in the Church, that, in Heaven, she would have two husbands." Carson concluded. "It's not like every love is the same. I have to assume there is no jealousy in Heaven. As I said before, there is room for everyone. The scripture says, 'In my Father's house are many rooms.'"

"Apparently, some rooms will just be more crowded than others." Mrs. Hughes could not resist adding under her breath. Mr. Carson shot her a blistering look, but when he realized that Lady Mary had not heard her, he relaxed and even smiled a bit.

Mary had lost interest in the conversation the second Carson had begun to quote scripture. Not only because she largely disdained scripture, but because they had emerged from the cemetery and the other two girls were trotting towards the entrance to Waterlow Park.

"I will leave them with you for a moment, Mrs. Hughes. I need to pop over and tell someone where the girls are." Mr. Carson informed Mrs. Hughes as he turned back towards the West Cemetery. "If, that is, you think you can refrain from telling Lady Mary anything about the crowded rooms of Heaven."

"I make no promises, Mr. Carson. You'd best hurry back." She teased as he dashed across the street.

TBC…

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**AN/ Educational (touristy) moment: People of note in Highgate Cemetery include Karl Marx, George Eliot, Charles Dickens' parents and descendents of Shakespeare, amongst others.**

**The third and final death in this story will be revealed in the next installment. Rest assured, it will keep our Chelsie together. Thank you for your many reviews. They do shape the story.**


	7. Sad News at Home

The family decided to cut their Season short this year after Rosamund expressed her desire to spend the first several months of her mourning in Yorkshire. And so, when Mr. Carson saw Mrs. Hughes off at the station the day after the funeral, it was with the unspoken promise of seeing her again in less than a fortnight.

They had not spoken further about the incident in the cemetery. There was no need. Their understanding was not something they could ever discuss, but it was something they could never doubt.

"I hope you enjoyed your brief stay in London, circumstances notwithstanding." Carson made small talk as they waited for the train.

"I enjoyed the change of pace. It's interesting to observe how another housekeeper runs things from the inside. Though, I feel your influence over Grantham House outweighs Mrs. Jones'."

"She was a spitfire in her day, they say. And I'd lose an eye if I ever adjusted her staff rota."

"You work well together. Though I imagine you'd work well with anyone, Mr. Carson."

"Better with some than with others." He smiled. "There are certainly people I prefer working with."

When the train arrived, Carson opened the carriage door for Mrs. Hughes and handed her the small bag he'd been carrying for her.

"Pleasant journey, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I shall see you soon."

"Yes, very soon."

-00-

A rare July storm accompanied the carriages from Downton's station to the door of Downton Abbey. Rivulets of water cascaded down from the overtaxed gutters around the castle. The gravel pathway was littered with large puddles. The occasional flash of lightning preceded the accompanying dark rumble of thunder.

Geoffrey and two hall boys met the family with umbrellas ready and escorted them inside. Carson was surprised when Mrs. Hughes failed to greet the family at the door. In this weather, he did not expect the staff to wait on the outside stoop, but there was plenty of room in the front hall. He went downstairs searching for her at the earliest possible moment. _Was she well?_ He wondered. When he found her, his heart stopped. She was at her desk and she was crying.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

"Oh my God! Is the family back?" She stood to hurry out of the room.

"They've just arrived, but that doesn't matter now. They've all already gone up." Carson held up a hand to stop her. "Will you kindly tell me what is wrong, Mrs. Hughes? Something has clearly upset you."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson." She retrieved an open letter from her desk and handed it to him. Carson looked at her in confusion.

"Read it."

He looked down at the letter, noting the fresh drops of tears on the stationary.

_'Dear Mrs. Hughes,_

_I regret to inform you that my sister, Christine Georgina Pearson, has passed away. She was apparently sick for some time, but kept her illness from her family until near the end. I am sorry that I did not have time to warn you._

_ She always spoke so fondly of you and of Mr. Carson and of Downton Abbey. I know she would be grateful if you would attend services in her honor this coming Saturday.'_

The breath left Carson's body and he swayed slightly. His mind barely registered the details outlined in the letter. She was gone. She'd been sick and hadn't told anyone. He had failed her.

_'Thank you for all you have meant to my sister. I look forward to meeting the people she called her downstairs family._

_Mrs. Stephanie Royston'_

By the time Carson had read the first sentence of the letter for the twentieth time, he had regained his composure. The air filling his lungs felt like air again, rather than mud.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I will inform His Lordship. I assume you plan to attend." He sounded cold and distant, even to himself.

"Yes. I would like to attend. Northallerton is only fifteen miles or so."

_Was it so close as that?_ He wondered. The knife of self-recrimination twisted in him. "Very good."

"Mr. Carson?" He was just standing in her office, making no signs of leaving.

"Hmm? Oh, my apologies, Mrs. Hughes, I'll be going."

"No apology necessary, Mr. Carson. Are you going to be alright?"

Carson shrugged, "Why not?" With those incongruous words, he left.

-00-

Though they had not made specific plans, Mrs. Hughes had hoped that they would resume their tradition of taking a few moments together at the end of the day. After the last of the maids had gone up, she knocked on the butler's door nearest to her own.

"Come."

She found him at his desk, staring into a cigar box full of papers, photos and knickknacks.

"Help yourself." He gestured to the glass and decanter sitting on his desk. He had anticipated her arrival. "I was just going through some old papers, to see if I could find anything pertaining to Mrs. Pearson."

"And?"

"Not much." He looked down into the palm of his left hand.

"What have you there?"

"My first pair of cufflinks." He held them up for her inspection. They were made of dingy brass. She saw the insignia of an anchor and a crown and recognized it at once.

"When were you in the Royal Navy?"

"Never."

"Your father?"

"No. Mrs. Pearson's husband."

This was news to Elsie. "She really was a missus then?"

"Mmhmm." He nodded. "Before he died, they were married for five years; most of which he spent at sea. She never even had to leave service."

"I hope he was an excellent correspondent."

"I believe he wrote often, if that counts. She didn't speak of him much, but when she did, it was with obvious affection and sadness. She had a stack of letters she would read when she was down."

"It is difficult to imagine loving someone you can only reach through letters."

"Not really." Carson said sadly, but seemed to catch himself. "That is, sometimes it's easier to write something than to say it."

"When did Mrs. Pearson give them to you?"

"When my father died. I left Downton to live with my uncle and she gave them to me then. She wanted me to look properly dressed for the funeral. She told me to continue my education and make her proud."

Carson tightened his grip on the cufflinks.

"I should have visited her." He said, out of the blue. "She would have told me she was sick."

"She didn't tell her own family." Mrs. Hughes reminded him.

"She would have told me."

"I don't wish to be cruel, Mr. Carson, but that would not have changed anything. You couldn't have saved her."

"But I could have seen her, I could have said goodbye." His eyes were dry, but his voice was full of tears. Elsie could tell that he was struggling to keep his feelings in check. Nothing she said could be of any comfort to him now. As much as she loathed to admit it, he was better left to himself tonight.

"I won't impose any longer, Mr. Carson."

"I am sorry to be such poor company tonight, Mrs. Hughes."

"Nonsense, I have not known Mrs. Pearson as long as you have, but I have known her for many years. This is a very great loss."

"That it is, Mrs. Hughes, that it is."

She left him as she had found him, staring down into his cigar box of momentos.

TBC…


	8. Requiem for a Housekeeper

To say that Carson was not himself for the next few days would have been too mild an assessment. None of his duties were neglected, but his step was heavy and his mind distracted. His temper was on a hair trigger. He'd nearly bitten Geoffrey's head off over a misplaced lid to a serving dish.

Mrs. Hughes followed at a distance, soothing over the chaos in his wake. She too was grieved by Mrs. Pearson's death, but she knew that it touched him much more deeply. His dark mood affected the entire house, upstairs and down. Even the children were cranky, not understanding why Carson didn't have time to read them the story that he'd promised.

Mrs. Hughes tried to understand his temper, but her patience reached a limit just after tea on Friday. The family, including the Dowager Countess was planning to attend Mrs. Pearson's funeral the next day. The entire staff had been granted the day off and an omnibus had been hired to carry them to and from Northallerton. The logistics of the day were straightforward, but Mr. Carson was making them unnecessarily complicated.

"The family will return after the service and the omnibus will stay until later so staff may attend the wake." Mrs. Hughes confirmed.

"I will return with the family." Carson announced, making a note on his diary.

"I don't think you should." Mrs. Hughes argued. "I think her family expect you to be at the wake, and rightfully so."

"Someone must look after this family. Her family has no right to expect anything from me."

"Not even a little consideration for their loss? I think it would mean a great deal to her sister if you stayed. You aren't the only one who is hurting, Mr. Carson."

"I never claimed to be."

"Then why have you chosen now to become so selfish?"

"Selfish? Since when is mourning a friend a selfish act?"

"When you act as though you are the only person to have ever lost someone you love and when you act as though the dead are more important to you than the living. That is selfish." She confronted him. "I miss her too, but people die, Mr. Carson, as we've been made painfully aware of late."

"You mean _'Why seems it so particular to thee?'_" Carson's voice rose. "Well, I'll simply answer that, _'I know not 'seems.''_"

Mrs. Hughes recognized the quote from Hamlet. Knowing how he often used literature to speak his heart, she encouraged him. He wanted to tell her something; needed to say something. "How does that go? _'Not alone my inky cloak…?_'"

_"Nor customary suits of solemn black,  
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,  
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,  
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,  
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,  
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,  
For they are actions that a man might play:  
But I have that within which passeth show;  
These but the trappings and the suits of woe."_

He finished the passage and sat thinking for few seconds. She waited. "This is particular to me, Mrs. Hughes, this is important to me. Dead or alive, Mrs. Pearson is important to me. Even if I failed to show it when it mattered."

She heard the regret and self recrimination in his voice. "Then show it now. I know the grief is deep, but sometimes these shallow 'trappings and suits' are all we can offer. They're certainly all we can share."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I needed that reminder." Carson apologized. "I'll stay for the wake. Mr. Lennox can look after the family. He didn't even know Mrs. Pearson."

"Very good, Mr. Carson." She took up her notebook and rose to leave. He still hadn't fully faced his grief, but it was progress. She was content with that for the moment. "And don't wallow in Hamlet. That lad always did overthink things." She warned.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled sadly. As ever, he was grateful that she was there to save him from himself.

-00-

The small church of Northallerton was filled to bursting with people coming to pay their respects to Mrs. Pearson. Carson could not believe the turnout. He recognized a good many faces of people who had passed through the doors of Downton over the years. There were even more that he did not recognize; people who had predated him at Downton and people who had worked with her elsewhere. The evidence of her influence warmed his heart. He was so overwhelmed that he could not think of an excuse when Mrs. Royston asked him if he could say a few words during the service.

"It was one of the few things Caroline requested for her service." She told him. How could he refuse?

Now, he sat with Mrs. Pearson's family in the front pews of the right-hand side. It was odd to look across the aisle at the family from Downton, seated in the front pews of the left-hand side. He'd never sat even with His Lordship in any church.

_'As men, we are all equal in the presence of death.'* _Carson though wryly.

He listened to the reverend speak of treasures in Heaven and the merits of a life of giving but the words sounded hollow to Carson. He thought of the explanations he'd given the young Ladies of being surrounded by those you love in Heaven and found no comfort in the thought. When Mrs. Royston introduced him and he took his place behind the pulpit, Carson's mouth was dry and words deserted him. Carson looked out at the expectant faces. These people were her family, a family she had built and earned and loved. Out of all of them, Mrs. Pearson had chosen him to speak for her, but he had no words.

The moment threatened to overwhelm him until he looked at Mrs. Hughes. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, but she looked at him steadily, trying to send him strength. It must have worked, for he took a deep breath and plunged forward.

"The obituary described Mrs. Pearson as a faithful wife and beloved sister. I am sure she was, but to leave it at that would be false. She was so much more. Most of us here today only knew Mrs. Pearson in her professional capacity. We can, each of us, appreciate how hard she worked. Most of us know that it takes a very special person to do what Mrs. Pearson did." He forced his eyes not to dwell on Mrs. Hughes, but to scan the congregation.

"Her formal title was housekeeper, but in the course of one day she was many things to many people. She was a sister and a mother to the homesick. She was doctor and nurse combined to those who were ill.

"At times she was the commanding general and at others, the dutiful soldier. She was a wicked gossip," there were some pockets of sniffled laughter in the church, "and a trustworthy confidant.

"She was a formidable adversary and…" Carson's voice broke here and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, "...a selfless friend."

"She was often all of these things in the span of a day, or sometimes an hour. A lesser mind would have gone mad being all these disparate people, but she had the intelligence and perception to be exactly what was needed in any given moment without ever losing the essence that made her unique. She was all of these things, but, above all, she was Mrs. Pearson, housekeeper.

"The reverend spoke of an eternal reward in Heaven," Carson shrugged. "And it is his place to know such things. I can only speak of what I know and all I know is what I see. Today, I see Mrs. Pearson's extended family. I see her earthly immortality represented in each of you; in the memories we carry with us and the lessons she has taught us. We are all the richer for having known her. She influenced and affected each of us and we will continue to share her spirit throughout our lives, passing it on to those we influence and teach." He smiled briefly at the Crawley children.

"I feel a sadness that I have learned my last lesson from my dear friend, but I am happy and grateful for the gift that was her friendship."

The last dry eye in the church belonged to Charles Carson as he stepped down from the pulpit. By the time he reached his seat beside Mrs. Royston, there was not a dry eye left in the building as Carson finally let himself break.

TBC…

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**AN/ Yes, Carson was pretty much describing the perfect housekeeper, which we know our Elsie to be. Sorry to be so tear jerky, but this is a funeral. I promise the next chapter will be much lighter.**

*** This quote is attributed to Publilius Syrus, a writer of maxims in Rome circa 100 BC.  
**


	9. Drown Your Sorrows

**AN/Second update today for two reasons...1) I won't be updating on the 4th of July, I'll be setting things on fire- first meat and then fireworks. 2) For a few readers I thought might need some levity today (you know who you are).**

**Behind the Scenes exclusive: The original name of this story was 'Goodbye, Mrs. Pearson' and it was going to be a one off of Chelsie at the wake…I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed envisioning it.**

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"Do you think she knew?" Charles frowned into his beer. The glass swam in and out of focus. He couldn't remember if he was having whiskey with a beer back or beer with a whiskey chaser. It had ceased to matter. All he knew was when one was empty, he had the other to comfort him.

"Of course she did." Beryl Patmore assured him, patting his back bracingly. She did not have the first clue what he was talking about. She'd been enjoying the fine port on offer at the wake. She leaned against him bodily, the two of them half holding each other up.

Most people at the wake milled about and mingled, but Charles had not left his stool at the bar. All afternoon, people sought him out, praised his eulogy and bought him a drink. After the fifth one, he'd stopped protesting and had decided to let the alcohol claim him. He hadn't gotten truly sloshed since he was eighteen years old. Maybe it would be more fun this time than it had been back then, he told himself, knowing it was an empty hope.

Elsie watched him from wherever she happened to be as she moved through the room, meeting new people and sharing fond memories of Mrs. Pearson. Because of her experience with her father, Elsie did not want to speak to Charles in his current state of inebriation. She was curious as to what kind of drunk he would be, but she did not want to have such memories of a man she respected so much. She kept her distance, but it irked her to see how closely he and Beryl leaned together just now.

The wake was just getting its second wind when the omnibus for the staff was scheduled to depart. It was clear that not everyone was ready to leave. Mrs. Royston offered a room in her own home to Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore and secured a room above the pub for Mr. Carson.

Outside the pub, Mrs. Hughes loaded up the bus and sent a note to Lord Grantham explaining the absence of Downton's senior staff. Inside, Mr. Carson continued to imbibe with impunity even as the bulk of his staff loaded up to return to Downton.

The wake continued well past legal hours, but there was no slowing down. Finally, after yet another visit to the loo, Mr. Carson stumbled out into the cooling night in search of fresh air. Beryl was sleeping soundly at the bar. Carson bumbled his way to a bench beside the pathway leading around the side of the Fox and Hounds. He sat down so heavily that he slid off the front of the bench and landed firmly on his backside, his long legs splayed out in front of him. He weighed his options and determined that sitting on the ground was just fine for the moment. It actually had the advantage over the bench because it would hurt less if he just fell over.

He sat there for an indeterminate time, trying to remember why he had come here to Bullamoor to drink at the Fox and Hounds. He heard the crowd noise grow as the pub door opened briefly. He heard the light crunching of the gravel as she approached. Even on gravel, he knew her step.

"Mishush Shoose?" he slurred.

"Drink this," she said softly.

"I thing k've had enoughffff." He drew out the word as he protested, his gorge rising slightly at the thought of another drink.

"Yes, I believe you've had enough to blind a horse, Mr. Carson." She agreed. "But this is just water. It will help, eventually. Trust me."

"Thank you, Mishsus Shoose." She giggled at the way he slurred her name, but did not point out his error. Taking the pewter mug from her, he took a tentative first sip. "Thish is esxactly wha' I needed. Howdijoo know? Howdjoo always know?"

"I know all about drunks, Mr. Carson. I am Scottish, after all."

"I thought that's jusht a schtereotype. Most of the Scots I know are quite reshponsible in their conshumption."

"Most are, but the ones who are not, are legendary."

"What elssse do you know about drunks?"

"I know that there are three kinds of drunks." She explained. "There are fun drunks, mean drunks and sad drunks."

"Guesh which I am." His sad eyes tried to focus on her as she sat on the bench above and beside him.

"You may be a new kind of drunk, Mr. Carson." _Adorable. _He was nothing like her father or any of his loud and boisterous friends.

"Your words today were very moving, Mr. Carson."

"People act like I extra…emprinter…extremper…extemporaneously recited the Magna Carta." Carson tried to shrug off the compliment, but only succeeded in listing strongly to his left. "I jusht said what I felt."

"That's what made it so moving."

"Too little, too late." He spat. "I should 'ave vishited her. She should've told me sheesh ill."

"This again?"

"Yessh, thish again! Thish always."

"You had to get the family settled in London. She understood that."

He nodded with large, exaggerated bobs of his head. "She understood a great deal. It'sssa terrible blow to loose someone who understands…so much."

"Yes, but you can't beat yourself up over this. You did what you had to do, what she expected you to do. If she wanted to see you, she could have sent for you. You would have come."

"Yessh."

"Then you're done blaming yourself for not visiting?"

"No. In this, we must agree to dishagree."

"Dishagree? Mr. Carshun?" He caught on that she was teasing him. He looked hurt in an adorable, puppy dog sort of way.

"Don't be cruel, Elshie, it's not in your nature. I mean, Mishushughes. I'm very sorry."

"I don't think it signifies what you call me, Mr. Carson. You aren't going to remember much of this tomorrow."

He did not disagree. He was leaning against her legs, snoring lightly. She and the bench were the only things holding him up. They sat together as the stars moved in their courses. Carson dozed while Elsie watched over him. She dared to reach out and brush his unruly hair away from his eyes. He hand lingered on his head, feeling the softness of his hair and the warmth of his forehead. She was unsure of how much time passed, but it could not have been much time. The sounds from the pub dwindled as guests left through the front door. None of the departing mourners saw the pair at the bench in the shadows.

When he woke up, it was clear that the nap had done him some good. His speech was clearer, but he was far from sober.

"I cannot feel my face." He frowned as he jabbed his nose persistently until she stopped him by placing her hand on his arm. She was afraid he would poke his own eye out.

"I am sure the feeling will return." She tried to comfort him while also fighting the urge to laugh.

"I rather hope not."

"Why not?"

"Because my face is attached to my head," he explained pedantically. "And I don't think I'll want to feel my head tomorrow."

"No, you probably won't." She agreed. "Do you think you can stand, Mr. Carson? There's a room for you upstairs."

"Can't I just sleep here?"

"If you like, but you'll have an aching back to go with your aching head tomorrow if you do."

"You sound like Mrs. Pearson." He muttered soppily, but he was convinced. Carson began to struggle to his feet.

She moved to help him, but he waved her off. After gaining his feet, Carson tottered a few steps to a small tree which he grabbed for balance. He leaned here briefly, a bundle of leaves in his face, before setting out for another tree closer to the door of the pub. This tree was just a sapling and it bent slightly under his weight. Sensing that his support was inadequate he moved on quickly to the next source of support, a lamppost. He clung to the post as though gravity had deserted him and the post was his last connection to the earth.

Elsie watched his progress lovingly. Her heart ached for him. He'd lost both his parents before the age of fifteen. Now, he'd faced the deaths of three people, one of whom he cared for like a parent, in a condensed span of time. Elsie knew he was suffering and that he didn't know how to face it. He wanted to sweep his grief away like lint on a jacket, but it wouldn't go away. His grief was not lint on the surface, but a tear in the very fabric of his life.

Elsie wanted to be his support, not only physically, but emotionally. He was too proud to accept her help in either case.

"I have to do this alone." Carson smiled apologetically at her, peering around the post as he hugged it. She wondered if he could read her thoughts as sometimes she could read his. "You understand, don't you?"

"I do."

"Thank you. I knew you would." He eyed the long walk up to the pub door. It was further than he had yet traveled. After sizing it up, he decided to gather his strength a little longer. Still, she stood nearby, not advancing or retreating.

He smiled at her again, a mushy smile of adoration. "I live a charmed life, Mrs. Hughes."

"Charmed, Mr. Carson?" Her heart glowed as she returned his smile.

"Indeed. It is a rare thing to know someone as kind and singular as Mrs. Pearson. It is an honor to have worked with her and been able to call her friend."

"We were all very fortunate to know her." Elsie agreed, but Carson waved his hands on either side of the post as if to say, 'You didn't let me finish.'

"It is a rare thing to know someone as amazing as Mrs. Pearson." He repeated, "But to be so fortunate twice in a lifetime is surely a sign that my life is blessed beyond my ability to deserve it. Elsie, I want…"

Just then, the pub door opened.

"There you two are! We were about to send a search party." Mrs. Royston came out of the pub supporting a very red-faced and tipsy Beryl.

The landlord came out and took Charles by the arm, pulling him away from the lamppost. "I'll take care of this one, Mrs. Royston." Charles let himself be led by the slightly smaller man, but he looked confused. He'd lost his train of thought. He only knew he had been talking of something very important.

"Thank you, Teddy." Mrs. Royston smiled.

"You can collect him tomorrow if you dare." The man laughed as he staggered under Carson's weight and in the face of his flammable breath.

"I'll let Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore make that call."

"We'll be by at breakfast." Elsie promised. "If you set a headache powder packet by his bed, he'll take it when he wakes."

"Will do, Mum." The landlord promised.

"Good night, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Royston called. "Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to me and I know it would have meant so much to my sister."

"G'night." He tried to tip a hat that he was not wearing and nearly pulled the poor landlord over.

"Right, up to bed with you, big man." Teddy grunted as he righted the tilting butler and steered him through the door.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Drunk and adorable Carson. The next chapter will be our last update for this visit to the Downton past. ** **For those in the US, enjoy your 4th of July responsibly. For those elsewhere, enjoy the World Cup responsibly.**


	10. Hangover Cure

Beryl and Elsie shared Mrs. Royston's spare room that night. Elsie could barely sleep, worrying about Charles and listening to Beryl saw logs all night.

The few hours of sleep she managed to achieve were deep and blissful. She dreamt she was sitting on a bench in a sunlit field. The children were playing a game of tag and Charles was leaning against her legs as he had tonight. His head rested on her knee.

"Papa!" The child that ran up to him looked a lot like Lady Mary, but it was not Lady Mary. It was Their Mary. She had Charles' deep, dark eyes and Elsie's smile.

"Mama!" A dark-haired moppet called out. Their Sybil bounced towards the bench.

Their Edith was 'it'. She laughed as she chased her sisters around the bench. Charles rose from his place on the grass in front of the bench and joined the chase. It was then that Elsie felt something else in her lap. She looked down at Their son, sleeping with a serious look on his face, just like his Papa.

"Blessed Saints and all their Blessed Mothers!" Elsie woke up to Beryl's hissed curse. "What was in that wine?" The cook asked, clutching one side of her head.

"I think the more pertinent question is, how much of that wine did you drink." Elsie chastised her.

"I don't need a bleeding lecture."

"No, you need _this_." She forced the glass of freshly mixed headache powder into Beryl's hand. "Now, shut up and drink it. And kindly keep your cursing to a minimum." Elsie did not feel very inclined to be generous to Mrs. Patmore today.

"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, didn't you?"

"I didn't have much choice. There was an inebriated cook taking up most of the bed." Elsie snapped.

"I'll tell you, I don't take kindly to you barking at me. My head's already throbbing as it is."

"You should have considered the consequences last night."

"Is Charlie going to get the same lecture or is this just for my benefit?"

"Charlie? I don't know any Charlie." Elsie huffed. She did not like this sign of intimacy between the cook and butler.

"Oh, you know him; big guy, big nose, looks down it a lot." Mrs. Patmore looked more closely at Mrs. Hughes. "Blimey, what's got you all in a knot this morning? You can't be hung over."

"Certainly not. One of us had to remain alert enough to keep the others from embarrassing the Crawley family."

"You don't give a twig about sparing the Crawley family a little embarrassment." Beryl accused.

"That's not true." Elsie protested.

Beryl shrugged, "I shall expect you to give the same sermon to Mr. Carson when we collect him."

"Oh, I'll give him a sermon alright, but you are first. The two of you were disgraceful. The way you drank and carried on…"

"Carried on? What's that supposed to mean? Do I look like someone who 'carries on'?"

Elsie looked away hurriedly, but Beryl had already seen the look of jealousy on the housekeeper's face.

"You mean you didn't like how chummy Charles and I were." Mrs. Patmore understood. Despite her throbbing head, she thought she'd test Mrs. Hughes a bit. "You must have been upset when he held my hand."

"He never held your hand!"

"So you were watching us all night, were you?"

Elsie was caught. "I told you, I was making sure you two didn't cause a scene."

"Sure you were. And I only drank that wine to spare someone else a hangover." Beryl replied snidely. "Go on, pull the other one."

"Speaking of hangover, I could make your morning quite miserable if you don't back off."

"Fine, fine, but you've no need to be jealous."

"Jealous!"

"Ow!" Beryl winced, but did not back down. "You heard me. I'm not blind you know. I've known Charles…" Elsie glared. "…_Mr. Carson_ for a long time and I know him better than most."

Elsie had crossed her arms and was listening with a sour look on her face.

"I will admit that you know him better than me, but there are some things you don't see." Beryl continued. "Yes, he and I got drunk together last night and he leaned on me a little in the sight of all and sundry, but do you know why he can lean on me?"

"No." A tinge of hurt crept into Elsie's voice.

"Because it doesn't mean anything to him, or to me." Beryl explained. "He's like a brother to me. Did you know he kissed me once?"

"What? When?" Elsie looked aghast.

"It was last Christmas, when I caught him under the mistletoe he had just finished scolding Roger for hanging. I told him traditions must be respected. He just laughed and said, 'You caught me, Beryl.' He gave me a peck on the cheek and didn't so much as blush."

"What does that signify?"

Beryl put her hands on her hips and fixed Elsie with a look she saved for the stupidest of kitchen maids. "Elsie Hughes, if you caught Charles Carson under the mistletoe, he'd burst into flames."

Elsie had to laugh. "He probably would at that."

"You see, there's nothing improper in being familiar with someone you aren't interested in and who you know isn't interested in you. If, on the other hand, you are attracted to someone, it would be very improper to engage in even the most innocent public displays of affection." Beryl smiled knowingly at Elsie. "Our Mr. Carson does not behave improperly."

"No, he does not." Elise agreed, her ego placated. "Thank you for that, Beryl."

"Don't mention it. It's probably the wine talking anyhow."

-00-

They found Mr. Carson sitting on the bench outside the Fox and Hounds. He wore his hat low over his eyes, shielding them from the bright morning light.

"I'll just be inside." Beryl said quickly. "I wanted to speak to the landlord about that stew he served last night. I'm going to try and get the receipt. There was one ingredient I couldn't place."

Elsie smiled gratefully as Beryl hurried inside the pub. She sat down on the bench beside him, a safe distance apart. Charles had a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Well, that was a stupid idea." He grumbled.

"What?"

"Whatever I did last night."

"It's not like you to drink so much. What were you thinking?"

"I thought I could drown my sorrow."

"And how did that work out for you?"

"As you see." He took a large slurp of his coffee.

"What in Heaven made you think you could drink away your grief?"

"It always seemed to work for Paul. He had every reason to be depressed, but I never saw him but he was happy; or unconscious. Either way, he didn't have to remember the pain of losing his family."

"Then he wasn't honoring his family. It doesn't help anyone to forget. "

"Why couldn't you have told me that twelve hours ago?"

"You didn't ask. You didn't really set out to get drunk, did you?"

"No, but with people buying me drinks, I was two sheets to the wind before I knew it, so I thought I'd go for the third." He chuckled derisively, causing fresh pain to shoot through his cranium. "It doesn't work, by the way."

"What's that?"

"Drinking away grief. I forgot _why_ I was in pain, but I never stopped feeling it."

" It didn't work for Paul either, I expect."

"No, I expect not."

"You may not have dulled your grief, but you did manage to numb your face." She teased.

"Did I? I don't remember. Apparently, I've not the stomach, the head, nor the liver for being a drunkard."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Carson."

"Thank you for that assurance, Mrs. Hughes." He looked over at her, the pain, be it from his headache or his heartache or both, was evident in his eyes. He spoke tentatively. "I hope I did not say or do anything untoward last night."

"Do you not remember?"

"I fear my recollection of last night is imperfect."

"What sort of things do you fear you might have done?"

"I can hardly say, but I fear I might not have been a gentleman." Carason was concerned what he might have said to her with his inhibitions obliterated by the alcohol.

"You may set your mind at ease. You were the perfect gentleman, Mr. Carson. A drunk gentleman, but perfect as always."

His body relaxed at this information. "That is a relief to hear."

"We should be getting back to Downton."

"I think we missed our bus." He smiled self-deprecatingly.

"Last night's bus, yes, we missed that, but there's a 10:13 that should get us home by noon."

He consulted his pocket watch. "That gives me just enough time to finish my coffee."

The morning sun flashed on his cufflink as he put his watch back in his vest pocket. Elsie caught sight of the anchor and crown and was surprised.

"Mr. Carson, are those Mr. Pearson's cufflinks?"

He held up a cuff to her and smiled. "They are."

"I did not recognize them. They were so tarnished when I saw them."

"Silver isn't the only thing I can polish, Mrs. Hughes. I am quite good with brass, though I say it myself. It took some doing, but I was able to get them shining brightly."

"I am glad you could wear them. What a lovely tribute." She smiled at him. "Will you wear them back at Downton?"

"I think not. I've only worn these twice in my life; at my father's funeral and at Mrs. Pearson's. They have rather a melancholy association. It is unlikely that I'll ever wear them again."

"Well, they look very sharp."

The door to the pub opened and Beryl came out with two mugs of coffee. "I thought you might like a morning pick me up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore." Elsie said, accepting the offering.

The three of them sat silently on the bench, sipping their coffee.

-00-

Once again, Mrs. Hughes found herself in an omnibus with Mr. Carson. As on the day he had escorted her to Mr. Painswick's funeral, Elsie caught Carson looking at her at odd times. They exchanged uncomfortable glances for a while. Elsie thought he wanted to tell her something. Mrs. Patmore slept in the seat between Carson and Mrs. Hughes, jostling between them as the public omnibus carried them towards Downton village.

They let the rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves hypnotize them for a while, like a living metronome. Mrs. Hughes watched Carson out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting up straight and staring in front of him.

Just as Elsie felt herself ready to slip into a light sleep, Mr. Carson cleared his throat. She looked at him and he smiled at her hesitantly. "I hope you don't find me presumptuous, Mrs. Hughes."

"Presumptuous?"

"I presumed to speak to Lady Grantham on your behalf."

"I was not aware that I needed an advocate, Mr. Carson."

"You never finished your visit with your sister."

"No, but it can wait."

"It doesn't need to wait. You should return to your sister's and finish out the time you intended to stay. Indeed, you should stay longer." He insisted. "We won't be entertaining at all for the next few months, as the house is in mourning."

"I couldn't think of leaving. I've seen enough of my sister to keep me for a year." She answered honestly.

He looked down at his hands, "It's hard for me to understand that." Carson admitted.

"It's one thing for me to take time off when the family is away, Mr. Carson, but it is out of the question to leave Downton when they are in residence." Mrs. Hughes explained. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Carson?" She teased.

"Of course not." He answered defensively. "Time off is rare in our line of work, as is family. When you have both, you should avail yourself of the opportunity."

"You never take any time off for yourself." She pointed out.

"I haven't any family to visit, or I didn't; not until…" He couldn't say her name. "But not anymore. Perhaps that is why I don't understand. I thought you would _want_ to have more time with your family."

Elsie felt ashamed. She had forgotten Carson had no one to visit. Not now that Mrs. Pearson was gone. He was still beating himself up about not visiting her. He needed to give Elsie this time with her sister to alleviate his own guilt.

Elsie thought about it. Of course she should want to spend time with her family. Even if she and May drove each other up a wall, time spent together was a rare gift, one many of her colleagues would envy.

"Very well, Mr. Carson, you've convinced me. I will go, but only on one condition."

"Which is?'

"That you promise to write to me every day and let me know that everything is well at Downton."

"I promise." His smile at the prospect was quite broad indeed.

-00-

Epilogue: April 1922

Elsie Carson held her husband's hand as they watched the casket being lowered into the freshly dug earth. Elsie's eyes looked across the new grave at the new widow, surrounded by her children. There was no comfort to be offered for a life lost too soon.

Elsie squeezed Charles' hand. Charles was wearing the cufflinks that he only wore for family funerals; Mr. Pearson's Royal Navy links. The tiny anchor and crown shone in their newly polished splendor. She had found Charles on the roof deck of their flat this morning, polishing the links with manic concentration.

Charles looked resolutely at the hole in the ground. His eyes were dry. He was not ready to face his grief. Elsie knew it was still too fresh. She knew that he blamed himself. She would wait for him to be ready. She would be there for him when he was ready. She would always be there for him.

THE END

* * *

**AN/ And, there's the tease for the next story. We'll revisit this last funeral in 'Perpetual Motion', which is going to be quite angsty. Give me a week or two to finish up my CrackFic and I'll ****_FINALLY_**** give you 'Perpetual Motion', which I've been promising since January.**

**I hope you enjoyed this little bit of melancholia. Our next foray with younger Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and the Crawley girls will be much cheerier, but it may wait until after we meet Edith's child in Series 5.**

**Leave a review if you've the time. Thank you, and Chelsie On! **


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